Three Girls On High
by STRiPESandShades
Summary: "I suppose no one has told you this story, the tale of the Three Girls of On High. Aye, it can hardly be blamed, for the High Queen herself dares not speak of it." There is a reason why there are no longer any Girls of the High Court, unlike the others...
1. INTRODUCTION

**THREE GIRLS ON HIGH**

* * *

I suppose no one has told you this story, the tale of the Three Girls of On High.

Aye, it can hardly be blamed, for the High Queen herself dares not speak of it.

Surely, you have heard of the tragic fates of the Winter and Shadow Girls, or the vapid bliss of the Summer King's ladies, mortals who either chanced their short lives for something greater, or were taken from their worlds.

Ah, but the High Queen never speaks of her own thee Girls, Harmony, Serenity and Creativity, for what happened was what would reshape Faerie for ages to come.


	2. CREATIVITY

**CREATIVITY**

* * *

She stood before a massive pillar, pristine white and pure as the marble before her. Slowly, she made the motions with her hands that formed a shape, a woman to be a goddess, her arms outstretched to welcome her people into her loving arms. Slowly, she motioned to fold a robe about her waist and legs, to tone stomach muscle, to twist a bun into her hair.

Just as she was about to reach to place an apple in her outstretched hand, a voice, raspy and drawn called behind her.

"Well, hello, miss 'Tivity," someone rasped behind her.

It took her by surprise so that she whipped around to face that voice, the motion slicing the arms of the statue clean off.

"You again," she growled, "What do you want?"

This was the third time the Dark King had come to her studio, seemingly admiring her work or simply anything to harass the High Queen, but something about this visit seemed different.

"I need to show you something," he nodded, flicking a lighter aflame to light the cigarette between his lips. "There's something you're just not getting, love."

"And what is that?" she asked, turning back around to her ruined statue.

Irial shook his head, "You have to see it. Come with me."

"How can I know no harm will come to me? You Court is not exactly known for leaving visitors... unscathed."

"Would I hurt someone so close to the High Queen? Seems kind of unwise, doesn't it? Besides, it won't be my Court, just me, one afternoon, couple hours at best."

"If I come with you, for an afternoon as you say, do you promise to leave me and my sisters be? No more visits to my studio, especially while I'm working," her eyes narrowed, nodding to the broken marble arms behind her.

"My word to it, love," he nodded before adding, "Should you choose."

The arc of the bridge crossed the canvass; a green windowframe that welcomed a sweep of pink and red water lilies floating serenely on the pond.

"Beautiful, isn't it, 'Tivity?" Irial asked.

She nodded, "I love it."

"Too bad the artist was slowly going blind. We may never know what this scene actually looked like. He simply painted what he longed to see." the Dark King shrugged.

At this, she couldn't stop staring, the reddened lilies taking the space of her eyes, what the painter yearned, pleaded to see. Wasn't art supposed to be happiness and joy, as she saw it?

"Ah, and this one, come, 'Tivity."

The piece he indicated was a worn black and white photograph print, half of the face of a woman staring back in a haunted stare that seemed to see straight through the viewer, her light, wild hair flowing around the frame like smoke.

Creativity's eyes matched those of the woman in the photograph. She couldn't look away. Those eyes bore deep into her skull, not with sadness or melancholy, but with some kind of pain that she couldn't understand.

"Creativity?" Irial called, shattering her reverie. "There's one last thing you need to see."

The Dark King held the door for her at this new structure which seemed newer and more geometric than the last edifice, more wood and glass than marble or stone.

And the painting opened wide to her.

Swirls of starry light careened through her, cypress trees and church spires penetrated her, and the moon hung overhead like a lantern of hope and serenity eternal, as unreachable as it was. Light swirled and danced in pale sighs of blue or flared joyously in bursts of golden. Dark waves of the village and hills below crested, just waiting for the break, asleep and unaware of the cacophony of light and stars that screamed and crashed above.

That's when Creativity cried. Buried her head into her arms and sobbed.

Irial made no move to comfort her, instead pretending to be engrossed in the description beside it, nodding every few words as if agreeing with the history and supposed meaning.

"The artist was mad, you know." he said when at last she'd finished with tears, "He painted this in a sanatorium."

"Sighted?" she managed to choke out.

"No. He never had any contact with the fey."

"Why?" Creativity cried, "Why did you show me this?"

"Because you need to understand what art truly is. You've been holed up in Faerie with the Sighted artists for so long that it seems that you've forgotten. Art is pain."

"No!"

"Art is sadness, art is anger, art is madness, even. Art is a way to express and relieve that pain, a way to share it, to show it. If you can recall anything you've seen today that doesn't do just that, then I will return you home immediately and never bother you again."

She thought back over it, the cow skull framed in red, white and blue, the scene of the execution of a great philosopher, the clock melting over some deceased creature.

"And if I cannot?"

"I would like to invite you to my Court. Your catharsis, your relief from dark pain would be welcome there. You would be freer, to design as you would want to, unbind your hair," with that, he grabbed the tie around her bun, letting the whole thing fall into a wavy mess. "Creativity should be free, shouldn't it?"

"And you think joining your Court would be freedom? I'd just be one of yours."

Irial shook his head, "You misunderstand, love. You wouldn't become a Dark Faery, but my Court would be home to you, where the darkness and pain in art truly belongs."

The canvass clattered to the ground, the only lurid square of color in the entire stony dais of unmarred, unchanging marble.

The High Queen upon her pristine, undecorated throne simply stared at it.

It was battered with the methods of expirimental artists, splattered with the signature of Jackson Pollack, offset by the painted tumble of Georgia O' Keefe's flower petals. It was the first thing Creativity made that was truly hers.

The former High Girl herself matched the work, red hair unbound and wild with shocks of color racing through its tangled waves, her once-white dress a mess of paint and dye, her arms covered in acrylic color all the way up to the shoulders.

"Art does not belong among the High and the unchanging. Art moves, art lives, art evolves and art... art is pain. Dismiss me, Mother. I wish to be yours no longer."


	3. HARMONY

**HARMONY**

* * *

"We are two," Harmony exhaled.

Serenity inhaled, "Two parts of a similar whole."

"Silver," Harmony breathed

Serenity sniffed, "And gold."

"Within,"

"And without."

Suddenly, Harmony tore her hands from their grip on her sister's forearms. "I cannot do this, sister! I hear the cacophony of the worlds too keenly."

"Sister, I have told you ere before, should you hold such a peaceful element within yourself, you must find your own inner peace," Serenity snaked her silvery arms around her sister's neck comfortingly. "Just breathe and center yourself and you will find it."

"But that's the thing!" Harmony cried, throwing off her sister's arms, twisting and taking her hands into her own, "I want to be somewhere warm and happy where people are having fun! Not being cooped up where nothing changes, nothing happens! How can anyone be happy staring at these cold marble walls all day?"

"I too wish for a place not half so… invariable. Peace within changes to fit the obstacles and tribulations of life, not sit still and static. I wish to be where the winds blow and they cannot shake me, where the cold will try to bite and sting and I will tell it I will not bend."

Harmony shook her head, "That's- that's kind of weird," she admitted.

"To you, maybe." Serenity shrugged. Then she noted, "There is someone looking for you, sister."

There came a knock on the door.

"Daughter Harmony?" the faery servant asked meekly, "There is a visitor for you in the grand foyer.

A man stood at the foot of the great staircase where the two sets of steps twined towards each other before the floral planter. He was tan, as if spending so much time in the sun, he drunk it into his skin, turning him golden all over. His thin, brown beard was scraggly and his hair was short, but wavy. But what caught Harmony's attention the moment she saw him was his eyes, merry and blue as the skies on a clear summer day.

He smiled warmly as she descended the steps, "Hello, you must be Harmony. You may call me Miach, I would like to speak with you."


	4. SERENITY

**SERENITY**

* * *

"Mother?" Serenity asked, approaching the dais and the pristine, white throne. "I must admit… I feel much an imbalance."

"How met, my daughter?" The High Queen asked, her silver eyes cold and unfeeling. She rarely showed emotion once sat upon the throne, and while many subjects were unused to the Unchanging Queen's seeming apathy, her daughters were far from unused to it.

"It is hard to explain but I feel a… shifting. A dearth of peace that I cannot right."

"Your words speak double," Logic lashed out, her words clipped and harsh. "What do you imply, daughter?"

Serenity recoiled, recounting her words before she spoke, "Mother, my sisters have all left of their own accord, to seek other Courts where they feel they most belong. A queen by the name of Biera came to speak with me, the queen of the Winter Court."

Logic could only tell of what her daughter spoke of. Yes, Sorcha knew that this day was coming, and yet against any Reason, she prayed it would not come so soon.

"Mother, I believe it is time for me to leave too."

"You ask for something I cannot give," Sorcha breathed, her coldness breaking far too easily.

Serenity sank to her knees, "Please, my queen. This is not my place any longer. The forces are imbalanced; Harmonies, Serenities and Creativities are no longer working in tandem as they should. Please, dismiss me."

"Have you thought all things through? Have you Seen the consequences of your actions, even the ones your Sight will not show? Do remember that once you have left the House of Reason, there is no way to return."

"I have Seen and forseen my actions. I belong where the wind cannot shake me. Where peace falls among the chill of the snows."

The High Queen's eyes snapped back into their silver glare, "With Reason and with considerable foresight, you have found yourself more at home, more in place among a different Court, despite the fear of leaving this one behind. I will grant you your dismissal. Please rise."

Serenity felt herself stand.

She was free.

She was at peace.


	5. IN CLOSING

**THREE GIRLS LEFT HIGH**

* * *

Aye, for this began the age in which you knew.

For what had come before and what had come after could not be foretold by any star or Seen in any Sight or told in any prophecy.

Believing in the folly of having herself daughters, Reason dared try again with a son, created not only of her own but to concoct an internal balance with her sister War.

This would cause turmoil and tumult between many of the Courts, beginning and ending wars even long before you would remember, ages even before the birth of the son of King Tamlin or rise of the mortal Summer Queen.

But conflict and peace have always been a part of our worlds, even more so than the mortals or the demons hold. It shall be like this for every age to come as it has in every age of the past.

Perhaps in this, the High Queen has indeed created a realm Unchanging.

Perhaps we were never meant to know.

With all my heart,  
Your Father, Keenan


End file.
